Dark Wizards, Dark Wizards Everywhere
by agentmoppet
Summary: Seven years after the war, Harry Potter is feeling disillusioned with life. Partnered with Draco Malfoy, it is their job as elite Aurors to defeat dark and powerful witches and wizards. But what if there aren't any? What if all there is to life is a well filed tax return? ...Or what if they're wrong? EWE, SLASH, HPDM
1. Chapter 1

**Double sigh. I give up. I'm obviously stuck in a fanfiction phase for the next few years, so I'm just going to keep writing. Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JK Rowling.**

"Too what for his what?"

"Too big for his britches," Wiffleston said tightly. "It is a figure of speech, Mr. Malfoy."

There was a pregnant pause.

"It's a stupid one," Malfoy said, his usual sneer temporarily usurped by an expression of utter incredulity. "When you sass-talk the Headmaster and insult the cook, you're too big for your britches. When you split your soul into seven pieces and murder half of Europe, you're certifiably insane."

Harry nodded slowly, wishing suddenly and fervently that he hadn't gone to Ron's midweek pub night last night. He was sure he would have a far easier time concentrating on the current conversation if his eyeballs would stop throbbing.

Egbert Wiffleston sniffed. "The rumours of He Who Must Not Be Named's escapades have been greatly exaggerated. A fact that should be painfully obvious by the knowledge that he was defeated by a seventeen year old boy with a disarming spell." He pointedly did not look at Harry. "As I was saying-"

"What the hell would you know?" Malfoy spat. "You spent the entire war sun-baking on the coast of California."

"What. War. Mr. Malfoy?!" Wiffleston hissed through his teeth. "Pockets of rebellious fighting do not a battle make. _As _I was saying-"

"No, a _battle _a battle makes, you half wit," Malfoy practically yelled, making the walls of Wiffleston's tiny office shake. "Don't you read the Prophet?"

"The Daily Prophet has a history of falsifying facts in pursuit of lucrative headlines," Wiffleston said very quickly before Malfoy could get a word in. "Taking such articles without a grain of salt is the mark of ignorance."

Harry closed his eyes. This was their punishment. Somewhere, in the depths of the Ministry of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebot was crying with laughter, Harry was sure of it.

This was all because of that thing they did the other week. What was it again? Excessive Use of Force Leading to Obstruction of Justice. At least, that's what they were calling it. Repeatedly slamming Malfoy's head into the dashboard of their stakeout car while the perpetrator snuck out the back door was what Harry called it. And Malfoy had deserved it, although Harry couldn't exactly remember why. Something about switching Harry's Firewhisky for Veritaserum while he was talking to a very attractive witch, and then asking him about the time he had been found wandering around Hogsmead singing 'Oh Come All Ye Faithful' wearing nothing but a Christmas hat. And then something about asking him whether or not the attractive witch was the most beautiful witch he'd ever seen – which, when you've seen Fleur Delacour, is just plain unfair – and then something about a chocolate fountain, which Harry couldn't remember at all.

Regardless, the Excessive Use of Force was justified and certainly did not warrant Egbert Wiffleston giving them one of his trademarked three hour lectures on their next assignment, interspersed with snide commentary regarding the over-inflated egos of Ministry favourites and the blatant disregard for anti bribery laws shown by – quote – bad eggs. Harry wasn't sure if Malfoy was more insulted by the suggestion that he bribed his way into the Ministry, or by being called something so lame as a bad egg, but either way, neither of them had been in the best of moods when they were summoned to Wiffleston's office.

And now this: proof that Hermione hadn't been lying when she had told him about a disturbingly increasing number of wizards who were refusing to believe that the war had been as bad as the media reported. But then, Harry had never held much stock in the intelligence of Ministry employees. The fact that he now was a Ministry employee – and what's more, by choice – only served to make him angrier.

"As I was saying," Wiffleston continued, his lips pursed tight. "Just because He Who Must Not Be Named is gone does not mean the Auror department has reason to put their feet up. The world may not be full of Dark Wizards, but it does contain bad witches and wizards who mean harm to other witches and wizards. The need to catch and restrain these wrong-doers is just as urgent as it was for He Who Must Not Be Named. Even if it is not quite so," he gave a small cough, "glamorous."

Malfoy opened his mouth to speak, but Wiffleston continued loudly. "He Who Must Not Be Named was an anomaly. A mildly talented wizard whose infamy ultimately exceeded his skill and who misunderstood the limits of his power. It is regrettable that you engaged with him when you were young and impressionable, and therefore believed that the world would be full of such dangers. But that is no excuse for shirking your responsibility to the danger you have resolved to defeat! It may not be prestigious. It may not be noble. _But it is necessary!_" Wiffleston glared at them, panting slightly with the effort of self-restraint. "Now go back out to your automobile, drive to the address listed on your assignment, and this time when the perp leaves the building, _catch him!_"

Harry hated Wiffleston, from his thick toupee right down to his knock-off Italian loafers. He glared at him. "You're nothing but a pathetic little worm, Wiffleston," he said through gritted teeth. "You know that, don't you?"

"Oh, and now he says something!" Malfoy announced to the wall, waving his arms at Harry as if he were presenting him at an auction. "The Great Lord of The Docile Temper finally decides to contribute."

"_DON'T SPEAK TO YOUR SUPERIORS LIKE THAT!" _Wiffleston screamed, finally losing control. With a pop, Harry and Malfoy found themselves sitting on the pavement outside the Ministry of Magic, curious Muggles eyeing them as they walked past.

"Where were you on that one, Potter?" Malfoy snapped, glaring at Harry as they both stood up and dusted themselves off. "You crack it if someone butters your sandwich badly, but you'll leave me yelling at that imbecile on my own?"

"I have a headache," Harry muttered.

Malfoy smirked. "Professing the unearthly beauty of certain Veela-related Weasleys again, were you?"

Harry punched him.

"Oh, sod off, Potter," Malfoy grunted, rubbing his shoulder. "That witch was a gold-digger anyway. Get in the damn car. Let's go catch this- what is he again?"

"Smuggler," Harry said, fumbling for the latch of the car, which they had left invisible again.

"Smuggler?!" Malfoy cried, looking stricken. "I just got chewed out for two and a half hours because of a smuggler? Oh my god, Potter. Pay attention this time. I don't want to be forced to sit through another lecture because we didn't apprehend someone who probably sold me my bloody potions cabinet."

"You have no scruples, Malfoy. Has anyone ever told you that?" Harry said, finding the latch and opening the door. He disappeared inside, while Malfoy went around and fumbled with the passenger door.

"Of course I do, Potter," Malfoy said airily opening the door and sitting down. "Why else would I be here in this stupid car with you, fighting for the good of wizard-kind?"

"Because Shacklebot wouldn't pardon you if you didn't join the Auror Department, where you could be kept under a strict watch while you repaid your debt to society."

"You wound me, Potter."

"Not nearly enough, Malfoy."

Malfoy ignored him and pulled out the address. "Go straight," he said.

They drove to the new hide-out in mutinous silence. Harry had no idea why Malfoy was silent, other than that he was a melodramatic prick, but Harry was silent because Wiffleston was right. Not about the war – that was such a daft notion that it shot well past being funny to being just plain scary that anyone could be so ignorant. No, Wiffleston was right about the world in general. There were no dark wizards scheming behind closed doors, ready to take over the world as soon as Justice was distracted. There were no evil plots waiting to be foiled. There was no darkness lurking beneath secret passages filled with deadly creatures.

There were only smugglers and drug dealers and petty criminals hatching dastardly plans that took the Auror Department a matter of days – sometimes hours – to disentangle and avert. It was no wonder he and Malfoy kept missing the perps on account of inconvenient distraction. They were just so damn bored. It wasn't that Harry wished Voldemort would come back, or even that he wished another wizard would take his place. He just wished that something about the world and his life would make sense again and make him feel like he was doing something worthwhile. And no, dammit, he didn't need it to be prestigious or noble, whatever Wiffleston might say, but he did need it to be _something _more than the pathetic waste of time it felt like now.

"Potter, I like swimming as much as the next person, but I don't particularly feel like doing it right now."

"What the hell are you talking about, Malfoy?"

"You're about to drive off the peer."

"Shit!" Harry slammed on the brakes just before they went over the edge of the jetty. "Could you have said something a little earlier?!" He snapped, glaring at Malfoy who was calmly rearranging his shirt cuffs.

"I was wondering how far you'd get before noticing," he said airily. "You must have been very distracted. I nearly had to Disapparate."

"Malfoy, you're a git," Harry muttered, reversing the car until they were back outside the house they had been searching for.

When they were parked up on the curb where hopefully no one would try to park in the 'empty' space, Harry turned off the engine and they settled back to wait.

"Bet you I spot him first," Malfoy said after a long silence.

Harry grunted.

"Bet you ten galleons I spot him first," Malfoy repeated.

Harry grunted.

"Bet you ten galleons and-"

"Malfoy," Harry interrupted. "You're not going to spot him first."

"Why not? You're just scared you're going to lose ten galleons. Go on, why won't I spot him first?"

"Because I've already spotted him. He's taking a leak on the front fence."

"Shit."

They threw on Harry's invisibility cloak and shuffled over to the smuggler whose name temporarily eluded Harry. Really, they needn't have bothered with the cloak. The smuggler was too focused on the difficult task of holding himself up by the fence to notice anything going on around him.

"NobodyknowsthetroubleI'veseen," the man sang, slurring the words into one big mess and slowly falling sideways.

Malfoy and Harry shared a look and unanimously decided to wait until the man was finished 'concentrating'.

The man continued to fall until he was almost horizontal before he suddenly hoisted himself up and zipped up his fly.

"Nobody _knows!_" he sang with gusto.

"Incarcerous," Harry muttered, hardly bothering to lower his voice, and whipped off the cloak.

"Heywhat'sthisthen?" the man muttered, looking down at the ropes binding him. He looked up at Harry. "Where'd you come from?"

Malfoy pulled off the cloak and eyed the man, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"Caw, how'dyoudothatthen?" the smuggler muttered, squinting at Malfoy.

"He is a wizard, isn't he?" Malfoy asked, still sneering at the man.

"Shertainly am," the man said proudly.

Malfoy sighed. "This is utterly degrading."

"Don'tfeeldegre-re-re-ing."

"I didn't mean for you, you stinky bastard," Malfoy muttered.

Harry flicked his wand and sent the man sprawling into the back of the car.

"I'm not sure I'm cut out for this life of elegance you lead, Potter," Malfoy said drily.

"Get in the car, Malfoy."

They drove back to the Ministry accompanied by a sparkling rendition of the entire soundtrack of Jesus Christ, Superstar.

"Got him," Harry announced, dropping the smuggler on Wiffleston's desk with a loud crash.

"What are you doing bringing him here?!" Wiffleston exclaimed, jumping back as paperwork flew everywhere.

"Since you were so invested in our success," Malfoy said. "We thought we'd stop by personally to show just how moved we were by your inspirational speech."

Wiffleston preened. "Well, I-"

"I'm being sarcastic you dolt."

Wiffleston bristled under Malfoy's sneer and Harry's glare. With another pop they found themselves outside the Ministry once again, this time thankfully without the smuggler.

"I thought that would be more satisfying," Malfoy said thoughtfully. "Messing up his desk and stinking out his office with eau de drunken-homeless-man. Instead I just feel listless and empty."

"Insulting Wiffleston just isn't what it used to be," Harry said dully, getting to his feet and dusting himself off for the second time that day.

"None of this is what it used to be," Malfoy muttered.

Harry eyed him shrewdly. Malfoy returned the look but didn't say anything. If they said it, they'd have to acknowledge it. This was life. It didn't get any more exciting than tax returns and eau de drunken-homeless-man.

"Get in the car," Malfoy muttered, taking the driver's seat. "Let's go to the pub."

"It's only one thirty," Harry said, getting into the passenger seat.

"Good, maybe we'll get fired."

"Hey, what's this?" Harry asked, leaning back and plucking a small vial of from the back seat of the car. It glowed faintly, catching his attention immediately.

Malfoy looked at it and shrugged. "Smuggler must have dropped it. Probably an explosive. We'll hand it in when we get back." His eyes suddenly gleamed. "Or, we could-"

"We're not blowing something up just to get fired," Harry interrupted.

"Killjoy."

Harry slipped the vial carefully into the glove compartment and promptly forgot about it.


	2. Chapter 2

As it turned out, they didn't get fired. They got promoted.

"That evil little bastard," Malfoy muttered.

"It wasn't Wiffleston," Harry said dully as the Department applauded their news. "He's not clever enough to think of this."

Wiffleston stood smugly at the front of the room, waiting for the applause to die down.

This whole promotion stunk of Kingsley. Kingsley knew that Harry and Malfoy were bored, and he was sick of their careless mistakes. Shoving them into close quarters with Wiffleston - who would now be their direct superior - and giving them more work was a carefully calculated move designed to remind them who was in charge and hopefully kick them back into gear.

"Next on the agenda," Wiffleston continued when everyone was quiet. "Toilet paper. I've received several complaints that people are either not replacing the rolls, or are replacing them incorrectly. Might I remind you-"

Harry wordlessly handed Malfoy a brightly wrapped sweet. Malfoy tore the wrapper and shoved it in his mouth immediately, a blissful expression crossing his face as soon as he began chewing. Harry unwrapped his own Tunable Toffee and chewed quickly until he found a radio station he liked. Harry had to admit, the latest Weasley's Wizard Wheezes invention had saved his sanity more than once during a Ministry Meeting. Wiffleston was likely to drone on for at least another forty-five minutes, and without the distraction of music playing from the convenience of Harry's own head, Harry was at risk of doing something stupid.

Despite Kingsley's intention to shove Harry and Malfoy back into line, Harry was more inclined to just quit. It wasn't as though he needed the money, but something always stopped him from actually giving notice. He would never say it out loud, but part of him was afraid to find out what he would do with his time when there was nothing forcing him to get out of bed in the morning.

Something nudged against his leg. He looked down and saw nothing. Looking up at Wiffleston, he gauged from the man's gestures that he was still discussing the most effective way to replace a toilet roll, and bent down to look under the table.

There was nothing there except for a small vial that looked as though it had fallen out of his pocket. He frowned at the vial. It was glowing like the one in the glove box from the other day. But that wasn't possible. He'd left it in there, hadn't he?

He picked up the vial and looked at it. It was warm to touch.

Harry nudged Malfoy. "Isn't this from the car?" He whispered.

"Wheel around and around and around and around," muttered Malfoy under his breath, singing with his eyes closed and completely ignoring Harry.

Harry nudged him again. He opened his eyes and glared at Harry. Harry waved the vial under his nose.

He moved to smack the vial away, but then stopped and frowned at it. "Isn't that the vial from the car?" he whispered.

"I think so," Harry said.

"What did you bring it in here for? It's probably an explosive. It could go off any second."

Harry shook his head. "I didn't bring it in. I found it on the floor."

Malfoy smirked and opened his mouth, but before he could spurt some derisive comment they suddenly realised that everyone was watching them.

Harry spat out his Tunable Toffee. The music stopped immediately and he could hear that the room was completely quiet.

Wiffleston looked like a tomato about to pop. "When you are both paying attention," he said furiously. "We can conclude the meeting."

Harry noticed Malfoy was still chewing his toffee, a politely attentive expression on his face.

"Smug bastard," Harry muttered, knowing Malfoy couldn't hear.

It had been a shock to both of them when they were assigned as partners four years ago, and an even bigger shock to realise that they actually worked well together. Okay, so maybe they still shot insults at each other whenever possible, and maybe Malfoy was still a dickhead when it came to anything even remotely moral, and maybe they both needed a little work when it came to doing things by the book - which, as far as Harry figured, was written by Aurors anyway - but apart from that they were a pretty good team. And, for Harry, it meant that he never had to deal with a starry eyed, star-struck partner, which was more important to him than fifty well-mannered Aurors.

Back in Malfoy's cubicle, they examined the vial.

"Not that I don't believe you, Potter," Malfoy said drily. "But I've never heard of a potion that moved on its own. Exploded on it's own? Yes. Calmly followed someone into their office and tapped politely on their leg? No."

Harry grunted. "So you think I'm nuts," he said.

"In a word? Yes."

Harry picked up the potion and stared at it. "I just don't know what it-" Before he could finish the sentence, the potion whacked him in the head.

He dropped his jaw, stunned. "Did you see that?"

Malfoy stared at the vial, his eyes wide, and shook his head slowly. "No, I didn't." He paused. "Did it just whack you on the head?"

The potion smacked Harry on the jaw. Before he could fight back, something very large slogged him in the back of the head and everything went black.

When Harry woke up, he was in the unmistakable sterile walls of St. Mungos. He sat up and saw Malfoy chewing happily on a box of chocolates that had obviously been left on Harry's nightstand.

"Oi, those are mine," Harry said.

"I don't see your name on them," Malfoy muttered around a mouthful of chocolate.

"It's right there on the card!"

"You're delirious, Potter. Go back to sleep."

Harry groaned as his head gave a sudden twinge of pain. He laid back. "What happened?" he asked.

"It's a funny story," Malfoy said, throwing Harry a peppermint flavoured chocolate and taking two for himself. "When I said that I had never heard of a potion that moved on its own, I can now confidently say that I have heard of fifty."

"Fifty?" Harry asked, confused.

"Fifty," Malfoy agreed. "And they all hit you on the back of the head at once. Now, the reason _why _they did this - and how - is currently a matter of some debate."

"And if you were to take an educated guess?" Harry asked impatiently.

"I would say it's because your head has finally grown so large that it's developed its own force of gravity."

"Very funny."

"I know. I've been waiting hours for you to wake up so I could tell you that one."

Harry rolled his eyes and groaned again. "You mean they really have no idea what the potions were?"

Malfoy finally stopped giving the box of chocolates his undivided attention and looked at Harry. He smirked, but there was a strange look in his eye that Harry couldn't identify.

"They really have no idea, Potter. But I swiped one of the potions before they took them off for testing, and while you were getting your beauty sleep I had a bit of a closer look."

"And?"

"And it's an immunity potion, so the way it acted almost makes sense," Malfoy glanced at him and rolled his eyes at the blank expression on Harry's face. "Immunity potions are most frequently used by Aurors. We've never had to work in a situation that would need one yet, but an example is if you were walking into a building that had been thoroughly trapped. You wouldn't want to necessarily rely only on your wand to get past the traps safely. So you'd have a bag of these with you, but if you've got Fiendfyre coming at you, you don't want to be fumbling for the right potion, so they're brewed to recognise the presence of what they're providing immunity against and to glow or vibrate or do something to attract your attention."

"Well, hitting me in the back of the head certainly attracted my attention," Harry muttered.

Malfoy nodded. "We have a particularly zealous brew, it would seem."

Harry snorted. "So what is it providing immunity against?"

"Not sure yet," Malfoy said, looking hesitant. "And there's something else-"

The door opened and a nurse came in. "Oh good, you're awake," she said to Harry with a smile. "It was a particularly good hit. You were out for a while."

"Yeah, it was," Harry said with a grin, rubbing the back of his head.

She came over to the bed and waved her wand over him. "Just doing a couple of final checks and you'll be free to go."

"And when are you free to go?" Malfoy interrupted, leaning back in his chair and smirking suggestively at the nurse.

Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes. The nurse looked up at him in surprise and, to Harry's dismay, giggled. "Not for a while yet," she said, turning back to Harry. "'Fraid I'm in for the late shift tonight."

"And what about tomorrow?" Malfoy said, unperturbed. "Surely you'd be free around eight o'clock?"

"I'd have to check," she said, glancing back at Malfoy with a smile. "There you are," she said to Harry. "All done. I'll sign you out."

"Thank you," Harry said, pushing back the covers and reaching for his clothes, which he could see on the chair behind Malfoy.

The nurse left him to change. As soon as she left the room he shot an amused glance at Malfoy.

"'When are you free to go'?" he mimicked incredulously. "Really? You sound like you got that line out of a book on the cheesiest pickup lines of the twentieth century."

Malfoy snorted. "At least I wasn't smiling at her and trying to look sorry for myself like a right git." He rubbed the back of his head dramatically. "Oh, poor me, I'm Harry Potter and I'm always getting mysteriously injured. Hold me."

Harry wacked him over the head. "You've got no chance, she was just being polite."

"Polite, my arse. She was all over me, Potter."

Harry snorted. "You really think you're something, don't you?"

Malfoy stuck his nose in the air. "I land far more dates than you, even without a famous scar."

"Want a make a bet on that?"

Malfoys eyes gleamed. "One hundred galleons. I'll have more dates than you by the end of the year."

"Pfft," Harry muttered. "Done."

"Confident, aren't we, Potter?"

Harry ignored him and changed out of his hospital gown. "So what was the 'something else' you mentioned?"

"Oh, right," Malfoy frowned. "I'm not sure, but I think I recognise the potion maker. Every potion maker has a distinct style, and this one is a bit strange."

"In what way?"

"If it's the person I think it is, they died more than a century ago. All their potions should be well gone by now."

Harry frowned. "So where did the smugglers get it?"

"I'm not sure, Potter. But I really want to find out."

An owl swooped in the window just as Harry had finished getting dressed. Malfoy untied the letter and opened it curiously, a frown slowly crossing his face as he read.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"Well they've finally identified the potion," he said. "But that's all they're saying. We're to get back to the Ministry immediately."

"Nice to see they're sympathetic to the sick and injured," Harry said, following him down the hall.

"Potter, if they sent you a fruit basket every time you got a boo boo, we'd all be out of a Christmas bonus. Now where's that nurse?"

**Happy New Year everyone! Hope you all had a great New Years Eve :)**


	3. Chapter 3

"Told you," Malfoy muttered smugly to Harry.

Harry rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. Wiffleston didn't notice and kept talking. He had moved from the baffling origin of the immunity potions - of which, to Harry's disgust, Malfoy had been absolutely correct - to the tracing methods they would be employing in the search for the cache.

"And we will of course need to interrogate the smugglers," Wiffleston added as a side note.

Malfoy sat up eagerly in his chair. "'We' in the literal sense? Or 'we' in the general auror department sense?"

Wiffleston gave him a look of poorly disguised contempt. "The aurors assigned to the case, Mr. Malfoy," he said curtly. "Which would be Smith and Wilson."

"You mean I get bludgeoned half to death by a sack of overly enthusiastic potions, and I don't even get assigned to the case?" Harry interrupted, glaring at Wiffleston. "Why the hell am I here, then?"

Malfoy nodded firmly in agreeance.

"You are here, Mr. Potter," Wiffleston said with a sly grin that worried Harry immensely. "Because your recent promotion has dictated that you be put in charge of the operation. Such a prestigious role - new to both yourself and Mr. Malfoy - requires you to coordinate the investigation from the comfort of your own office, remaining in constant contact with field officers Smith and Wilson, and to use your superior knowledge of the criminal mindset to determine new and productive methods and locations for investigation."

"You mean we're stuck inside for the whole thing?" Malfoy said, his face twisted in horror.

"Precisely," Wiffleston said, the grin still firmly in place. "I expect your first report by Wednesday. Good luck, gentlemen." Wiffleston smirked and left the room.

Harry looked around, an expression of sudden understanding mingled with alarm crossing his face. "Two desks," he said with a whimper. Malfoy's eyes widened as he too realised that this was not Wiffleston's new office as they had assumed, but their own. Brown walls, two white desks, and a thick brown door, firmly shut now that Wiffleston had left. If shut doors could look smug, this one did.

Harry and Malfoy stared at the door, both deep in contemplation.

"Bugger this," Harry said suddenly.

"My thoughts precisely, Potter," Malfoy said, and they both climbed out the window.

They emerged in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office.

"I always wondered what would happen if you tried to use one of the fake windows," Malfoy said, staring thoughtfully at the space they had just emerged from, which looked just like an ordinary third floor window.

"Wonder if it leads back to the same window," Harry said, scratching his head. "Guess we'll find out later when we come back."

"Will we go find Smith and Wilson, then?" Malfoy asked, leading the way down the corridor.

"Can't let them have all the fun," Harry agreed. "Although you needn't sound so excited about interrogating prisoners, you sadistic git."

"Excuse me for appreciating the prospect of a task that offers something a little more intriguing than falling asleep on a stakeout. Don't tell me you wouldn't enjoy finally putting your elite interrogation skills to use."

"By 'elite interrogation skills' do you mean flashing them your Dark Mark and pretending you're not terrified at the sight of blood?"

"Low blow, Potter. You're trivialising a very serious event in wizarding history. Shame on you."

"Don't act like that wasn't your plan."

"Harry!" A voice said in surprise.

Harry turned around. "Oh, hi, Mr. Weasley," he said with a grin. "What are you working on today?"

"Enchanted picture frames," Mr. Weasley whispered conspiratorially, walking over to them and waving a brown wooden frame in front of him. "Pickett thinks it's just a simple illusionment charm to make the pictures change when Muggles aren't looking. Adding a piece of furniture, or changing a person's hair to make Muggles think they're going mad. But I think it's far more sinister than that, Harry. I think the pictures are stealing objects. But don't let Pickett know. He thinks he's got this one in the bag." Mr. Weasley frowned. "I'll show him. He'll think twice before he takes another cursed teacup investigation out from under my very nose."

Harry stifled a laugh. "Well, if you see Wiffleston, don't tell him you saw us, okay? We're meant to be coordinating an investigation from the office."

Mr. Weasley looked suddenly concerned. "You're not rushing into something are you?" he asked, all trace of distracted competitiveness gone from his face.

"It's alright," Harry said gently. "It's quite safe. We're meant to be staying behind as a punishment. We've been getting a little, er, distracted lately."

Mr. Weasley's eyes twinkled. "Alright then," he said, although he still looked faintly concerned. "I won't say a word."

"Thanks, Mr. Weasley," Harry smiled.

They waved goodbye - Malfoy and Mr. Weasley sharing a curt nod - and moved on, quickly exiting the Ministry and checking where they could find Smith and Wilson.

"Back at the smuggler's den," Malfoy said, flipping through the assignment.

They located the car with some difficulty and drove off.

"So what do you know about this potion maker?" Harry asked Malfoy as they drove. "Was she really good?"

"Her name was Portentia and she was the best," Malfoy said. "Or one of the best, at least. So I'm not surprised her immunity potions are still so potent after being stored for hundreds of years. They might not be working perfectly, since there was no reason for them to be throwing themselves at you, but the point is they're clearly still strong. With a little tuning they could probably be used again."

"And why is it so concerning that her potions have turned up?" Harry asked. His mind had wandered during Wiffleston's explanation.

Malfoy glanced at him in exasperation. "Do you ever pay attention, Potter? It is concerning because her potions were never benign. This immunity potion was probably brewed for immunity against incarceration spells or entrapment spells. In other words, to protect wizards and witches who were probably being, shall we say, a little bit naughty, and who didn't want to be captured by the authorities."

"Ah," Harry said. "So if these potions have survived, we're worried her others have too?"

"Heavens, Potter. One could almost think you had a brain in there after all," Malfoy said drily. "Yes, we are concerned that her offensive potions have been stored as well as her defensive potions. And if that is the case, it would be a really good idea to find them before anyone else did."

"Because they could be really destructive?"

"Because spilling a small drop of one her potions could destroy the entire Ministry of Magic in less than twenty seconds."

Harry gaped at Malfoy, whatever words he had been going to say forgotten.

"Although, of course, if you keep driving while looking at me instead of the road, we may never have to worry about such destruction. Being dead and all."

Harry grunted and turned back to the road. "I didn't know potions could be so potent," he said after a long silence.

"It's rare," Malfoy said. "There have only been a small handful of wizards and witches in written history who could brew a potion so powerful."

They arrived at the smugglers' house and parked quietly on the street.

"There," Malfoy said after a few seconds of scanning the ground. He pointed to an area of the nature strip that had four conspicuously flattened areas of grass. They pulled on the cloak and walked over. Harry took a few deep breaths before rapping on the side of the car. He hated dealing with Smith and Wilson. He had never met two people more terrified of diverging from the rules.

A small sliver of car appeared suddenly in the air as Smith rolled down the window and peered out nervously.

"It's us," Harry said. "Open the door, they can't see this side."

Smith popped open the passenger door and Harry and Malfoy slid into the backseat, the illusionment charm still hiding the car from sight on the side facing the house.

"Aren't you two meant to be at the office?" Wilson asked from the driver's seat, his tone short and brisk.

"Change of plan, Willy," Malfoy drawled. "You get the comfy office, and we're going to do the field work."

Wilson bristled. "But Mr. Wiffleston said that you two would be in charge of the investigation and would coordinate from home office."

"Funny thing, that, 'being in charge'," Harry said. "It means we're in charge. So leave."

Smith looked stunned, like the ground had just been whisked from beneath his feet. "What will we do instead?"

Malfoy handed him the folder he had tucked under his arm before they left the car. "There are six addresses in this folder. Investigate each one and look closely for any signs of potion making. You'll need to be discrete with your questioning - don't let the perps know what you're looking for. They're highly dangerous and skilled in misdirection."

"So we're still doing fieldwork?" Smith asked, smiling hesitantly. Wilson looked suspicious.

"Of course," Harry said, "What do you take us for? We carefully tailored your investigation to suit your skill. We've high hopes for your investigative skills."

Wilson and Smith shared a glance. "And the perps don't know what we're questioning them about?" Wilson asked, chewing his cheek thoughtfully.

"Not a clue," Harry said. "You'll need to employ the highest level of discrete questioning."

Wilson nodded firmly. "We'll be on it right away."

"Brilliant," Harry grinned. He threw the cloak over himself and Malfoy again and opened the passenger door. When they were safely onto the footpath, he heard the faint sound of a magically muffled engine turn on and saw invisible wheels carve a quick path through the grass and speed off.

Harry and Malfoy shuffled back to their car and drove into the place Wilson and Smith had occupied.

"What were those addresses you gave them?" Harry asked Malfoy when the engine was shut off.

"My favourite restaurants," Malfoy said, pulling out a bag of snacks from the glovebox. "Salt and vinegar pretzel?"

Harry grabbed a handful of pretzels and shoved them into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

"So, the smuggler we brought in didn't know anything, did he?"

"Potter, I think if you paid any less attention, you would be considered legally deaf. Does that bother you?"

"So that means we need to find the ringleader," Harry continued, clucking his tongue against his teeth as he thought it through.

"It would bother me. I think as a matter of pride more than anything else."

"And the ringleader is probably going to be difficult to find."

"I mean, seriously, Potter, people must think you're absolutely thick. Or that you have total disregard for anyone apart from yourself. Although you did save most of the wizarding world. That probably counts as a point in your favour."

"But maybe if we pin one of them down and threaten them, they might give us some useful information for the chance of a reduced sentence."

"Aren't you meant to be the moral one? Threatening someone over an arrest is still threatening someone. By the way, Potter, do you notice how I still listened to you while I was talking? That's one of the many ways I am superior to you. You should attempt to replicate it some time."

"Shut up, Malfoy."

They shuffled out of the car again and moved slowly up to the house, searching for a smuggler to apprehend. It didn't prove as simple as the last time.

They made their way carefully through the back door, but realised quickly that they needn't have been so concerned. The place was abandoned. Dingy wallpaper peeled from the walls, leaving streaks of dirt mixed with inexplicable burn marks from stray spells. The unmistakable odour of pot lingered thickly in the air. After a brief but thorough search, they moved back to the entry way and threw off the cloak, almost gasping at the sudden onset of oxygen.

"This cloak was easier when I was fourteen," Harry muttered.

"Well, we could use illusionment charms like normal Aurors," Malfoy suggested drily.

"The cloak is better," Harry said stubbornly.

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"If you want to go ahead and use a disillusionment charm, be my guest," Harry said sharply.

"Nice try, Potter. As if I'm going to walk into a dangerous situation with you more protected than I am. If you're under that stupid cloak, then I am too."

Something flew from the darkness of the house straight at Harry's head. He ducked quickly, while Malfoy reached out a hand and caught it. He held it far in front of his face and stared at it incredulously.

"Another potion?" Harry said, staring at the familiar glowing vial. "You have got to be kidding me."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say they were attracted to you," Malfoy said slowly.

Harry whipped his head up to look at Malfoy, recognising the tone in his voice.

Malfoy looked up at Harry, and then carefully looked around him at the corridor the vial had flown from. Halfway down the corridor was the door leading to the basement. They had checked it out and found it empty, shutting the door after them. There was now a small, potion-sized hole in the middle of the door.

Harry looked at Malfoy. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking, Potter, that maybe these potions might be working perfectly after all."

Harry pulled his wand and opened the door to the basement. On high alert, they made their way slowly down the stairs, Harry in the lead. The basement was still empty. The potion in Malfoy's hand was shaking violently.

Malfoy pointed toward a pile of crates in the corner. "Underneath that," he said quietly.

Harry knelt down and saw a small vial poking out from under the crate. He reached out for it, but Malfoy knocked his hand away.

"It's not an immunity potion," he said, all sense of dry sarcasm gone from his voice. He waved his wand and encased the vial in a small bubble. He muttered several spells before he finally floated the potion up and over to them.

"So, what is it?" Harry asked.

"One of her other potions," Malfoy said, his voice loaded with meaning. "It would seem she was a clever little witch, and thought to make immunity potions for her own concoctions, in case anyone tried to use them against her."

"Figured all that out upstairs, did you?"

"I wouldn't expect you to follow, Potter."

They checked the rest of the basement, but found nothing.

"Potter," Malfoy said slowly as they walked back up the stairs.

Harry looked at him warily.

"How much do you trust the people at the Ministry?"

"I don't even trust you, Malfoy, and I see you every day."

"Excellent. I propose we don't tell Wiffleston about any of this."

"Why?" Harry asked. "Not that I'm complaining."

"Because the only other time the potion tried to protect you was when we were at the Ministry." He looked at Harry, his eyes serious. "And we hadn't seized any of the smugglers' goods yet."

Harry's eyes narrowed as he realised what Malfoy was saying. "Silence it is, then."

**Sorry it's been so long without an update. I'm aiming to be a little quicker from now on, but then I tend to say that a lot ^^; Rest assured that nothing will ever be abandoned.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Life advice: Don't promise to update things when you have assignments due. And then don't avoid doing those assignments by spending far too much time on thehexfiles. And definitely don't make unreasonable promises to update your wattpad stories too, still while ignoring your assignments. And then don't get to a week before the assignments are due, panic, and install a website-blocker plugin to force yourself to stop procrastinating. Actually, do that last one, but don't get into a position where you have to do that… Basically, guys, just do your damn homework.**

Harry passed through the wards outside his apartment, barely noticing as they rippled over his skin, and made his way inside. A note whizzed past his head as soon as he had shut the door behind him. He plucked it out of the air.

_Sorry, mate, _Harry read in Ron's hasty scrawl. _We're going to have to cancel tonight. 'Mione's feeling sick. Did you know it can last all day? Why do they bloody call it morning sickness if it lasts all day? We'll have dinner another night though, yeah? I'll owl you._

Harry crumpled the note and threw it in the bin without looking. He hadn't been particularly looking forward to dinner, so he couldn't say he was upset it had been canceled on him, but now that the night stretched ahead of him with nothing to fill it, he couldn't say he was looking forward to that either.

He pulled out a bottle of Ogden's Old and poured himself a glass. He downed it quickly and cast a glance at the clock, wondering if six o'clock was too soon to go to sleep. Unfortunately, the answer was a clear 'yes'. He poured another glass and took it into the living room. After several minutes of silence overpowered by the ticking of the clock, he muttered a quick "accio" and caught the book that whizzed into his outstretched hand.

At first glance, it looked like an ordinary cookbook. A little dated, filled with quick and easy recipes, most likely gifted to someone for their first venture out of their parents' home. Certainly no longer necessary for an experienced twenty four year old. If you were to look inside it would appear much the same, except you would have a sudden and overpowering urge to do the ironing. Or the laundry. Or anything that meant you weren't there, right now, reading that book.

Harry was rather pleased with how his cloaking spell had worked. Even as he felt the leather case beneath his fingertips and turned the spidery pages of the spell-book, he felt a vague compulsion to do the dishes. He shook it off and turned to where he had last stopped reading: _Cruciatus And Its Variants_.

He had discovered the spellbook in Grimmauld place when he had spent several months moping there alone. It was around the time of his third year working for the Ministry, just before he had been assigned to work with Malfoy and bought his new apartment. It was during one of his first major cases - since his first two years of work were comprised of academy training - and he had been moping because the case had shocked him more than he was willing to admit.

At the time, Voldemort's reign of terror was recent enough that there were still a number of pockets of Death Eaters plotting to continue his work, and it had been just such a case that had nearly tipped Harry over the edge. It wasn't the Death Eaters that had shocked him - Harry figured very little could shock him in that respect - it was how the Ministry had handled it. Instead of investigating what the Death Eaters were working on, they had quarantined it, dismantled the spells without looking closely at what they were, and closed the case. When Harry had questioned why no one was making sure nothing further could come of the Death Eater's work, he had been politely but firmly told that the study of dark magic had no place in the Auror department. If there was reasonable cause to believe that the plot was bigger than the evidence before them, they could call in the Curse Breakers who could compile a report for a Dark magic expert. However, due to the infrequent need for such an expert and the necessity for the expert to be under constant surveillance to ensure they had not succumbed to the thrall of their dark magic, there were few available in Britain. Harry was informed that this case was not high profile enough to require such a complicated procedure.

So he went home and sulked. How could the Ministry hope to control what they didn't understand? And where was the trust? Surely if more people were aware of how dark magic worked, there would be less secrecy and less temptation? Learning about the spells wasn't the same as learning how to cast them. But he had known he would get nowhere with that particular argument, and so he hadn't bothered.

It was as he was sorting through belongings in the attic, trying to find items that had belonged to Sirius and items that could be discarded entirely, that he had stumbled on the book. Typically, there had been no attempt to hide it. Why would one hide a dark artifact in a house of Black? It had been simply tossed at the bottom of an old chest along with a number of magical items and forgotten. It had no title, but when Harry opened it he quickly realised it held a collection of spells that were beyond dark. Accounts of forgotten rites - performed by long dead ancestors - blood magic, and variations of the Unforgivables that spoke of a level of finesse that Harry was certain only Voldemort had held. Like a form of cruciatus that could be contained to singular organs, so the victim was forced to watch as their intestines dribbled slowly from between their legs.

Harry had quickly realised that the Dark Arts they had learned about at Hogwarts was child's play. And yet, as an Auror, he was expected to know nothing about the kind of curses he could be subjected to. And worse still, he was expected to turn a blind eye to anyone with dark magic potential, unless he could prove that they posed a threat on a national scale. And even then, he was expected to turn the evidence over to some crazy kook who spent their lives under strict Ministry observation.

Harry had spent the last four years quietly researching as much about the Dark Arts as he could without drawing attention to himself. It started out of righteous indignation, followed quickly by curiosity, until soon he found himself unable to stop collecting dark paraphernalia. His apartment was littered with so many cloaking spells and concealment charms that it was a wonder people could step foot inside with feeling an overwhelming desire to run home and sweep.

He had never told Ron or Hermione about his collection, because he had known they would worry about his health in such close proximity to so much dark magic, particularly after the effect the Horcruxes had had on all of them. Harry was sure it was perfectly fine - for starters, none of the items contained anyone's soul - but he didn't want to have that argument. And even when he had become friendly enough with Malfoy to feel comfortable talking about something like this, he hadn't mentioned it. Mostly because if the Ministry discovered that Malfoy had anything to do with the kind of items Harry carried, Harry was sure Malfoy would end up with a life sentence in Azkaban. But also because, by that point, the secrecy had become a habit. He liked having his books and artifacts to come home to, knowing that they were his. Only his. It gave him a thrill when nothing else seemed to anymore.

He had to admit though, after hearing Malfoy's knowledge about those potions, he wished he could discuss it with him. Potions was something he had never looked into deeply, and Malfoy seemed to know a lot about it, naturally.

A shiver suddenly ran through Harry as he felt someone trying to enter his wards. He recognised Malfoy on the other side and let him through the Floo, quickly sending the book back to the bookshelf where it rested innocuously among the other recipe books.

Malfoy stepped through and dusted ash from his pants. "Living it up, I see, Potter," he said casually as he finished brushing the now imaginary dirt from his clothing. "I thought-" he stopped suddenly as his eyes came to rest on Harry. His gaze became aware in a way that Harry realised - to his discomfort - he hadn't seen in years. "What are you doing?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Harry snapped, thinking warily of the book. There was no possible way Malfoy had seen him shelve it, and Malfoy had been to his apartment several times. There was no reason for him to detect the concealment charms now.

"You're hiding something," Malfoy said, looking around the room as if he could spot the offending item. To Harry's relief, he couldn't. After several long seconds, Malfoy turned back to Harry, his eyes narrowed.

"You're mental," Harry said lightly. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

Malfoy paused for another beat before preening. "I came to tell you that I'm already ahead of you on the score board."

"What?"

"I'm on a date, Romeo."

"Why, Malfoy, I had no idea," Harry said lazily, stretching back in his chair. "You should have told me this was a date. I would have bought you flowers."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Please, stop, you're killing me," he said drily. "We're meeting at the restaurant now. I just thought I would drop by to tell you that you're already failing miserably."

"I appreciate the thought," Harry said. "But I've got a date too."

"Oh, really?" Malfoy said, one eyebrow raised. "My mistake, I thought your right hand already had plans this evening."

Harry smirked and casually flicked his wand. "Diagon Alley at seven?" he told the silvery stag before it galloped away.

"That is inappropriate use of a patronus, Potter."

Harry made a rude noise with his lips. "It's convenient."

"Well I'll leave you to pine for your imaginary date, shall I?" Malfoy said with a sneer, just as silvery hare bounded enthusiastically into the room.

"That sounds lovely, Harry," the hare spoke with a gentle and attractive female voice. "Heels or flats?"

Malfoy frowned. "That voice sounds familiar," he muttered.

"Don't you need to be somewhere?" Harry asked.

Malfoy swore and jumped back into the fire. "Have fun on your date, Potter," he said with a smirk, although he still looked annoyed that Harry had pulled a date so quickly.

When Malfoy left, Harry quickly changed, ran a comb haphazardly through his hair, and apparated to Diagon Alley to meet Luna.

It didn't take long to spot her. She was wearing a short green dress with several layers of ruffles matched with bright purple heels. She also had a pair sneakers laced together and slung around her neck.

"Hiya, Harry," she said with a smile, waving and walking over to him. "You didn't specify, so I brought both."

Harry smiled, unable to help himself. "I think the shoes you're wearing on your feet look great," he said. "Unless they're uncomfortable. The sneakers are quite nice too, and I thought we'd have a relaxed dinner, not too fancy, so it'd be fine to wear them."

"Wonderful," Luna said, waving her hand and vanishing the sneakers. "I'll keep the heels for now. I can always switch later if my feet get sore. How have you been, Harry?" She linked her arm through his and let Harry lead them down Diagon Alley to a small restaurant he liked to go with his less snobbish dates.

They settled themselves in a corner, Luna complimenting the old oak tables, and ordered dinner and wine. Harry filled Lunda in on the case and Luna described in great detail the unsightly rash that was spreading through St Mungoes.

"But it's nothing to worry about," she assured him. "None of the Healers have caught it yet, so I'm sure I won't pass it on to you."

"Glad to hear it," Harry said faintly, contemplating whether he wanted to continue eating his steak and kidney pie. He decided he did and took a big mouthful.

"But, Harry," Luna said, gazing up thoughtfully at the chandelier which was glistening in the candlelight that emanated from the many tables. "You still haven't told me what's bothering you."

Harry grinned ruefully. He should have known Luna would guess something was wrong. "Malfoy thinks that someone at the Ministry might have something to do with these potions," he said, explaining briefly about the way the potions had acted at the Ministry building when there shouldn't have been any other smuggled goods there yet. Not to mention the forty-nine flying immunity potions that mysteriously joined the one from the car. "We're not really sure where to go from here."

"You could always check the secret passageways?" she suggested. "If I were hiding smuggled goods in the Ministry, that's where I would hide them."

Harry stared at her. "What passageways?"

"Oh, haven't you heard of them?" Luna asked, turning her attention away from the chandelier and back to Harry. "The building is full of them. You see, the building belonged to the Wizards' Council until 1707 when they were replaced by the Ministry of Magic. And it wasn't until ten years after that that the Ministry officially declared the Unforgivables as Unforgivables and closed down the departments dedicated to dark magic. But-"

"Dedicated to _what_?" Harry burst out.

"Dark magic, Harry," Luna said patiently. "Not to practice, of course, but to research and develop counter spells and shields. In 1707 the Ministry declared the work of the Dark Magic departments complete. They thought we had enough defensive spells, and there was therefore no reason to keep the departments open any longer. So they shut them all down, but the old members of the Wizards' Council complained that their work was being destroyed and kept working in secret, even when the departments were bricked up and locked away by magic. Of course, the Ministry eventually realised what they were doing and banished them, but no one ever found the passageways."

Harry shook his head slowly. "And what makes you think I will?"

"Well, someone already must have if they're hiding things in them," Luna said calmly. "And you found the Chamber of Secrets. I think you have a decent chance."

Harry laughed, still shocked. "How do you know all this?"

Luna's eyes widened innocently. "I thought everyone did."

They moved onto other, lighter topics and finished the meal.

"Thank you for a lovely evening, Harry," Luna said, giving him a kiss on the cheek as they prepared to apparate back home.

"You too, Luna," Harry said, smiling warmly. "I had a great time."

Luna nodded thoughtfully. "I think you did," she said. "Although you still haven't told me what's bothering you."

Harry frowned. "Yes I did," he said.

Luna shook her head. "You thought you did, but that wasn't it."

Harry shrugged, feeling suddenly uncomfortable under Luna's watchful gaze. "Maybe it's wrackspurts," he said lightly.

Luna laughed. "Don't be ridiculous, Harry. No wrackspurt would go anywhere near you when you're feeling like this. You're far too negative, even for a wrackspurt." She patted his arm gently. "But don't worry, I'm sure you'll figure it out. We should do this again soon, it was good to see you."

"Yeah, you too," Harry muttered, his head suddenly feeling fuzzy and uncomfortable.

Luna disapparated, leaving him alone in Diagon Alley. He disapparated quickly home and tried to forget the gentle concern in Luna's voice and the disturbed sensation it had left in him. He eventually succeeded enough to fall asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

"Loony Lovegood so does not count, Potter," Malfoy drawled when Harry walked into their office the next morning. "It only counts as a date if you can score." A horrified look crossed his face. "You didn't score with Lovegood, did you?"

"You're insulting my friend, Malfoy," Harry said, passing him a fresh cup of takeaway coffee, one of the few Muggle luxuries Harry had managed to introduce to him, and sitting down at his desk. "She'd be a great girlfriend, but we're not interested in each other like that. And it still counts. The purpose of a date is not to 'score'. It's to enjoy time with someone of the opposite sex and see where it leads."

Malfoy frowned. "But you already said you weren't interested in each other."

Harry shrugged. "I wasn't interested in Ginny to begin with either. I figure I need to date someone before I can develop feelings for them."

A strange expression crossed Malfoy's face, but was gone just as quickly. He shook his head and sighed dramatically. "Then we're even. For now. But you can't use Lovegood again. They have to be different women."

Harry smirked. "Changing the rules already? Slytherin."

Malfoy took a sip of his coffee and immediately closed his eyes and groaned his approval. "What's this one, Potter? It tastes sweet."

"White chocolate mocha," Harry replied, taking a sip of his own caramel mocha.

Malfoy pulled a face at the name, but kept drinking. "Speaking of Slytherin and our undeniable superiority," he said after he had drained half his cup. "I've been testing the potion some more. I should have results soon. We need to find out what it was reacting to so that we can trace it and find out where the stash is. If we're lucky, it's an unrelated evidence stash that no one linked to this case. If we're not-" Malfoy trailed off.

Harry waved his wand at the door so that it shut quietly. "I was talking to Luna," he said. "And she had an interesting idea." He relayed Luna's story to Malfoy and waited for a reaction.

Malfoy frowned thoughtfully. "It's not impossible," he said. "The Wizard's Council wasn't happy with the changes the new Ministry introduced, but I never knew the changes were so severe."

"Yeah, imagine trying to study Dark Magic in the Ministry today," Harry said. "They'd never allow it." He couldn't keep the faintly bitter tone from his voice.

Malfoy stared at him. "No," he said slowly. He readjusted his seat so that he was sitting up straight, a shrewd expression on his face.

Harry shifted in his seat, trying to think of a change in subject.

"So where do we look first?" Harry asked.

"If you were going to be casting dark magic in a building full of innocent people, you'd need the wing to be far away from everyone else," Malfoy said. "Which would have made it easy to seal off. I think we need to go below the courtrooms."

Harry grunted. Malfoy was probably right. They both paused, contemplating what excuse they could give for prowling around the courtrooms. There really wasn't one. It was going to have to be the cloak.

"Well, ladies first, Potter," Malfoy said as Harry tucked his cloak into his pocket.

"Hang on," Harry said, searching around the room. "Do you have anything left in that potion you've been testing?"

Malfoy leaned behind his desk and plucked the immunity potion from one of his drawers. It was still more than half full.

Harry eyed it with distaste. "Keep it on you so we know if we're getting close," he said.

Malfoy sniffed his begrudging approval of the idea and they climbed out the window again.

This time there was no one around in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office when they climbed out, so they threw on the cloak and shuffled toward the elevator.

"As comforting as it is being under here with you, Potter," Malfoy hissed in Harry's ear. "Maybe we should have waited until we were at the Department of Mysteries. It's going to be difficult not to give ourselves away inside a bloody box." He nodded his head at the elevator.

"Too late now," Harry whispered back as the doors pinged open. Three witches exited quickly, and Harry and Malfoy shuffled in to the back of the lift.

The wizard standing by the numbers gave their corner a confused glance, which made Harry think they must have made a noise, but he shook it off and closed the doors. The elevator continued down.

Two floors later at the Department of International Magical Cooperation, the wizard by the button panel left and another wizard came on. Malfoy took the opportunity to quickly press the button for level nine, Department of Mysteries. Harry thought the wizard may have spotted it, but fortunately, given the level it was, it didn't elicit more than a curious glance.

One floor down, at the Department of Magical Transportation, three witches climbed on. Harry gritted his teeth, certain they were about to be stepped on, but Malfoy drew his wand and muttered "_Raschio". _The witch who had been about to back into them immediately stopped walking and started scratching her back furiously.

"Argh," she muttered. "I hate new clothing tags." Her friends muttered sympathetically.

The elevator opened again and another wizard entered, along with a flock of memos. As Harry watched with vague disinterest, one of the memos suddenly stopped it's gentle meandering at the front of the lift and turned toward them. In a second it shot purposefully in their direction and started circling their heads excitedly.

Harry and Malfoy stared up at the memo in panic. One of the witches turned to watch the memo.

"Look," she said, nudging her friend.

Harry looked at Malfoy and mouthed "Shit".

Malfoy nodded furiously, his usual expression of relaxed cynicism replaced with alarm. The cloak was one of the Deathly Hallows. It should have been infallible. Unless…

Harry looked down suddenly and saw the very tip of his shoe poking out the bottom of the cloak. He grabbed Malfoy and pulled him down so that they were crouching. Malfoy opened his mouth in a reflexive protest, but luckily managed to shut it again without saying anything.

The memo stopped circling and floated back to the front of the elevator.

The two witches continued to stare at the back of the elevator curiously, but before they could think to investigate the empty space, the doors opened at the Atrium and they left.

Apparently, since no one entered the elevator, no one had a pressing need for the Department of Mysteries. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as the door shut.

"That was close," he muttered to Malfoy, snatching the offending memo out of the air.

"_Revised training schedule: explosive and anti-explosive spells. 2pm," _he read aloud.

Malfoy made a noise of approval, his eyes gleaming.

"Settle down," Harry muttered, straightening the cloak as the doors opened.

There was no one waiting as they exited. Malfoy took the potion out of his pocket and eyed it warily. "What now, Savior?" he asked under his breath.

Harry hushed him. The long and eerie corridor still unsettled him, even after so many years. "The stairs are this way," he said, leading them to the stairs that would take them down to the courtrooms.

Malfoy eyed him curiously. Harry had made no attempt to hide his familiarity with the area, even though neither of them needed to come to the lower levels for their work, but he didn't enlighten Malfoy as to why. His memories of being on trial, or visiting trials in Dumbledore's memories, or even when he had come back for the Horcrux, gave him a strange feeling that he didn't like to acknowledge. Almost like nostalgia, but for something terrible. It felt wrong.

Two of the court rooms were in session, but there was no one in the corridor to see them. Still, they kept under the cloak and walked quietly. Twisting through the corridors, the light gradually dimmed until they reached another staircase. Harry had never been here before. He paused at the top of the stairs. Far below, he could faintly see a glimmer of metal bars from the first cell. He couldn't help but imagine Sirius here, waiting to be taken to Azkaban.

"What's wrong, Potter?" Harry heard Malfoy whisper. He looked up in surprise at the oddly perceptive tone in Malfoy's voice.

Seeing Malfoy's face inches from his own - not quite filled with concern, but not malicious either - made him remember just how hot and claustrophobic it was under the cloak.

"Nothing, let's go," he said, turning forward and starting down the stairs. The temperature dropped even further than the court rooms and a thin coat of slime oozed from the walls.

There was only one wizard in the cells. He sat upright on the floor, his legs crossed, facing the back wall. As they passed, Harry thought he could hear him muttering.

It wasn't long before they reached the end of the corridor. There was nothing but a blank wall in front of them.

"Well, this is probably where the blockage is," Malfoy muttered. "But the passages wouldn't be right next to the original entrance. That would be too easy for someone to find." He took the potion out of his pocket, but it was still. He put it back.

"Let's check the cells," Harry muttered back.

They moved into the closest cell and pulled the cloak off since they were out of sight from anyone in the corridor. They ran their hands along the walls, muttered spells, and stamped on promising looking stones. It was entirely useless, and Harry quickly felt like an idiot.

He looked over to see Malfoy running his hand through his hair, looking defeated.

"It always sounds so much easier in theory," he muttered. "How did you find the Chamber of Secrets, Potter?"

"Luck," Harry answered promptly.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I shouldn't have asked. Wasted breath, really."

"Don't suppose you know any murdered teenage girls in the area?" Harry asked.

"What?" Malfoy stared at him like he had gone insane.

"Nevermind."

Harry turned back to the wall.

"Password?"

"Say again?" Harry asked, looking back at Malfoy again.

"I didn't say anything," Malfoy said, frowning.

"Password?" the voice whispered again.

Harry swore violently and backed away from the corner, stumbling. Malfoy caught him just before he fell and shoved him upright. Harry glanced at him and saw that Malfoy was suddenly pale, his eyes fixated on the man sitting at the back of the room. The man was sitting just as he had been in the other cell, cross legged and facing the back of the room. 

"You'd think Hogwarts would make you used to ghosts," Harry muttered as his heart rate came back under control.

"It's not a ghost," Malfoy said, looking considerably calmer. He pulled the potion out of his pocket and looked at it. It vibrated gently, glowing a bright green. Malfoy pocketed the vial, walked slowly passed the man, and faced him. "It's a portal."

Harry frowned and followed Malfoy. As he moved, the man seemed to move as well, so that no matter where Harry stood the man was facing the other way.

"He'll turn around when we give him the password," Malfoy continued. "And then I expect he'll lead us to the hidden passages."

"So," Harry said after a long pause. "It isn't that the Ministry can't find the passages. It's that they can't find the password?"

"I expect so," Malfoy said. "And I would imagine they are quite embarrassed by that, and so have kept the knowledge of the portal so hidden that few people, if any, know about it. In fact, their administration is so bad anyway that each case is documented by a different department. Most people who come down here probably think he is just a prisoner. And he can obviously change cells at whim, so it's not as though he is conspicuously stationary. If the cells weren't full, he could sit down here in this last cell for decades without anyone noticing."

Harry shuddered. "Well, let's not stick around, hey? We should go try and find the password."

Malfoy smirked as Harry pulled out his cloak. "What was that? Scared, Potter?"

Harry laughed and threw the cloak over both of them. "You wish."

**Bit cheesy XD Couldn't resist. I'm tired. Umm, I think I'm waiting too long to start their tension, for reasons that I don't want to say although they're probably obvious. I'll start it soon…**


End file.
